The Cabin, by Alicia Leclercq

THE CABIN

The sky had never been as clear as it was tonight. Each star glistened like a diamond in my wedding band. The days were hot but the water was frigid, and a soft blanket of fog danced and curled its fingers ever so gently through my hair. This used to be my favorite spot, just a short distance from the cabin. The kid’s chatter and my husband’s hearty laugh usually echoed through the woods, but not tonight. It was almost as if the world had disappeared; it’s eerie silence enveloping me. I could hear muted sounds and a soft rhythmic thud beneath the water as it was filling my ears. The thuds became stronger, faster, reverberating through my body. I was so cold. A gurgled sound of yelling echoed around me. I tried to look, to move, but I was frozen. Flickers of light flashed against the water, synced with each thud. I was suddenly surrounded by light, and the thuds became soft and unsure, and the gurgle of voices stopped. I could tell it was him, I knew it was him. He was beside me now, crying. The voices started again, hurried. He was gone, pulled away. I could see the shadow of bodies trying to keep him away from me. I understood now.

‘Keep him away from me,’ I yell but they don’t pay attention. He breaks through and touches my face, my body. I cry out in agony and try to push him away but I can’t. ‘Get away from me. Get away from me, ’ I scream over and over. I want to hurt him like he hurt me. Although I am screaming and sobbing, they don’t hear me. But I hear them. I hear them analyzing my bruises, my broken bones, and my dead body.